The Walt Whitman Archive

Manuscripts

"Live Oak, with Moss"

The following roman-numbered "fair-copy" manuscripts from the University of Virginia's Valentine-Barrett collection have come to be known by the struck-through title "Live Oak, with Moss" rather than the alternate and remaining title "Calamus-Leaves."

We provide this HTML transcription only temporarily. Eventually we will encode these pages in XML and incorporate them within our larger directory of Whitman's poetry manuscripts.

Calamus-Leaves.

Live Oak, with Moss.

I.

Not the heat flames up and consumes,
Not the sea-waves hurry in and out,
Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of
the ripe summer, bears lightly along
white down-balls of myriads of seeds,
wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop
where they may,
Not these—O none of these, more than the
flames of me, consuming, burning for
his love whom I love—O none, more
than I, hurrying in and out;
Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and
never give up?—O I, the same, to
seek my life-long lover;
O nor down-balls, nor perfumes, nor the high
rain-emitting clouds, are borne through
the open air, more than my copious
soul is borne through the open air,
wafted in all directions, for friendship,
for love.—

II

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it, and the moss hung down
from the branches,
Without any companion it grew there,
glistening out with joyous leaves of
dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made
me think of myself;
But I wondered how it could utter joyous
leaves, standing alone there without its
friend, its lover- -For I knew I could
not;
And I plucked a twig with a certain number
of leaves upon it, and twined around it
a little moss, and brought it away —
And I have placed it in sight in my
room,

It is not needed to remind me as of my
friends, (for I believe lately I think of
little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token - it makes me think of manly love,I writethese pieces and name them after it ;
For all that, and though the treelive oak
glistens there in Louisiana, solitary in a
wide flat space, uttering joyous leaves
all its life, without a friend, a lover,
near - I know very well I could not.

III

When I heard at the close of the day how I
had been praised in the Capitol, still it
was not a happy night for me that
followed; And elseNor when I caroused — Or—Nor^when my ^favorite plans were
accomplished — itwas I really happy, was well enough — Still I was nothappy;
But the the theat^thatday whenwhenI rose at
dawn from the bed of perfect health,
electric, inhaling sweet breath,
When I saw the full moon in the west grow
pale and disappear in the morning
light,
When I wandered alone over the beach, and
undressing, bathed, laughing with the
waters, and saw the sun rise,

And when I thought how my friend, my lover,
was coming, then O^ I was happy; OtTheneEach breath tasted sweeter—and
all that day my food nourished me
more—And the beautiful day passed
well,
And the next came with equal joy—And with
the next, at evening, came my friend,
And that night, while all was still, I heard the
waters roll slowly continually up the
shores
I heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and
sands, as directed to me, whispering,
to congratulate me,—For the friend I
love lay sleeping by my side,
In the stillness his face was inclined towards
me, while the moon's clear beams
shone, And his arm lay lightly over my
breast—And that night I was happy.

(on this leaf, beneath the paste-over, is an earlier version of the conclusion, with no strikethroughs)

And that night O you happy waters, I heard
you beating the shores—But my heart
beat happier than you—for he I love is
returned and sleeping by my side,
And that night in the stillness his face was
inclined toward me while the moon's
clear beams shone,
And his arm lay lightly over my breast—And
that night I was happy.

IV

This moment as I sit alone, yearning and
pensive, it seems to me there are other
men, in other lands, yearning and
pensive.
It seems to me I can look over and behold
them, in Germany, France, Spain—Or
far away in China, ^India, or in
Russia—talking other dialects,
And it seems to me if I could know those
men better I should love them as I love
men in my own lands;
It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful,
benevolent, as any in my own lands;
O I knowthink we should be brethren—I knowthink I should be happy with
them.

V

Long I thought that knowledge alone would
suffice me—O if I could but obtain
knowledge!
Then my landsthe Land of the Prairies
engrossed me—the south savannas engrossed me—For them I would live
—I would be their orator;
Then I met the examples of old and new
heroes—I heard the examples of
warriors, sailors, and all dauntless
persons—And it seemed to me I too
had it in me to be as dauntless as any,
and would be so;
And then to finish all, it came to me to strike
up the songs of the New World—And
then I believed my life must be spent in
singing;
But now take notice, Land of the prairies,
Land of the south savannas, Ohio's
land,

Take notice, you Kanuck woods—and you,
Lake Huron—and all that with you roll
toward Niagara—and you Niagara
also,
And you, Californian mountains—that you
all find some one else that he be your
singer of songs,
For I can be your singer of songs no
longer — I have passed ahead
I have ceased to enjoy them.
I have found him who loves me, as I him in
perfect love,
With the rest I dispense—I sever from all
that I thought would suffice me, for it
does not--it is now empty and
tasteless to me,
I heed knowledge, and the grandeur of The
States, and the examples of heroes, no
more,

I am indifferent to my own songs—I am to
go with him I love, and he is to go
with me,
It is to be enough for each of us that we are
together—We never separate again. -

____________

VI

What think you I have taken my pen to
record?
Not the battle-ship, perfect-model'd,
majestic, that I saw to day arrive in the
offing, under full sail,
Nor the splendors of the past day--nor the
splendors of the night that envelopes
me—Nor the glory and growth of the
great city spread around me,
But the two young men I saw to-day on the
pier, parting the parting of dear
friends.
The one whotoremainedremain hung on the
other's neck and passionately kissed
him—while the one who remainedtodepart tightly prest the one whoremainedto remain in his arms.

__________

VII

You bards of ages hence,! when you refer to
me, mind not so much my poems,
Nor speak to me that I prophesied of The
States and led them the way of their
glories,
But come, I will inform you who I was
underneath that impassive exterior—
I will tell you what to say of me,

Publish my name and hang up my picture as
that of the tenderest lover,
The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his
friend, his lover was fondest,
Who was not proud of his songs, but of the
measureless ocean of love within
him—and freely poured it forth,
Who often walked lonesome walks thinking
of his dearest friends, his lovers,
Who pensive, away from one he loved, often
lay sleepless and dissatisfied at night,
Who, dreading lest the one he loved might
after all be indifferent to him, felt the
sick feeling—O sick! sick!
Whose happiest days were those, far away^through fields, in woods, or on hills, he
and another, wandering hand in hand,
they twain, apart from other men.
Who ever, as he sauntered the streets,
curved with his arm the manly shoulder
of his friend—while the curving arm of
his friend rested upon him also.

_________

VIII.

IX.
Hours continuing long, sore and
heavy-hearted,
Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a
lonesome and unfrequented spot,
seating myself, leaning my face in my
hands,
Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go
forth, speeding swiftly the country
roads, or through the city streets, or
pacing miles and miles, stifling
plaintive cries,

Hours discouraged, distracted, —For he, the
one I cannot content myself
without—soon I saw him content
himself without me,
Hours when I am forgotten—(O weeks and
months are passing, but I believe I am
never to forget!)
Sullen and suffering hours--(I am ashamed—
but it is useless —I am what I am;)
Hours of my torment—I wonder if other men
ever have the like out of the like
feelings?
Is there even one other like me—distracted
— his friend, his lover, lost to him?
Is he too as I am now? Does he still rise
in the morning, dejected, thinking who
is lost to him? And at night, awaking,
think who is lost?
Does he too harbor his friendship silent and
endless? Harbor his anguish and
passion?
Does some stray reminder, or the casual
mention of a name, bring the fit back
upon him, taciturn and deprest?
Does he see himself reflected in me? In these
hours does he see the face of his hours
reflected?

_______

IX

I dreamed in a dream of a city where all the
men were like brothers,
O I saw them tenderly love each other—I
often saw them, in numbers, walking
hand in hand;
I dreamed that was the city of robust
friends—Nothing was greater there
than the quality of manly love—it led
the rest,
It was seen every hour in the actions of the
men of that city, and in all their looks
and words.—

X

O you whom I ^often and silently come whereI you are, that I may be with you,
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or
remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that
for your sake is playing within me.—

XI.

Earth! My Likeness! Though you look so
impassive, ample and spheric there--
—I now suspect that is not all,
I now suspect there is something terrible in
you, ready to break forth,
For an athlete loves me, and I him-But
toward him there is something fierce
and terrible in me,
I dare not tell it in words—not even in these
songs.

XII

To the young man, many things to absorb, to
engraft, to develop, I teach, that he be
my eleve,
But if through him speedrolls not the red
blood of divine friendship, hot and
red—If he be not silently selected by
lovers, and do not silently select
lovers—of what use were it for him to
seek to become eleve of mine?